


Going Home

by amyfortuna



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-01-01
Updated: 2000-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-21 03:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The required post-Horseman fix-it. Duncan and Methos talk, and, well, more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Home

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, this is a fandom cliché. But when you're inspired, you're inspired, and when you stay up past midnight on New Year's Eve watching double Quickenings, is it surprising that the Methos!Muse demands a cliché?

The Quickening began as a wave of power, spreading out from both Methos and Duncan like ripples in a pool. And then lightning struck.

Duncan's was an electrical ecstasy, a victor claiming his due triumph, while Methos entered the Quickening like he would have entered a lover, body spasming in sensual overload.

Light flowed from Duncan toward Methos, from Methos toward Duncan, and then suddenly connected. A spiral formed, a nimbus of light, perhaps Kronos reaching out in the last gasp of the Horsemen, a last attempt to reunite them.

Duncan saw power explode into Methos' body. It looked like he was taking two Quickenings at once, light overwhelming, Methos falling to his hands and knees with the force of it, slender body thrusting hips in the undefinable orgasm that was a Quickening to Methos.

And the images began, floating free across Duncan's mind. Methos underneath Kronos, mouth open in pleasure, eyes closed. Methos riding toward Kronos from out of the sunset, greetings exchanged in smiles only. Methos dying from the perfect throw of a knife, after all these centuries a less-than-sweet reunion. Methos, less than a day ago, leaning in as if to kiss Kronos, a subtle quiet smile playing over his features. Methos, caught like a deer in the headlights, suddenly revealed as a traitor to the Horsemen.

With that flash of memory, Duncan's eyes became his own again, no longer ruled by ancient memories not his own. He saw Methos as he was at that moment, shoulders slumped, weak as a child, laughter-sobs catching in his throat, Cassandra standing over him, axe raised.

Duncan hardly knew why, but called anyway.

"You want him to live?" she choked, disbelieving.

"I want him to live," Duncan answered. And when she raised the axe to strike anyway, he used the tone that no one ever disobeyed. "Cassandra! I want him to LIVE!"

Her eyes met his in the dimness, and she lowered the axe, defeated. And when he looked up again, she was gone. For several moments, the only sound in the submarine base was Methos' choking sobs.

Duncan found that he could move, and carefully got to his feet. Methos lay utterly collapsed on the ground, not even trying to stir when Duncan walked over.

"Are you all right?" Duncan asked, voice low, squatting beside Methos, a hand resting on his shoulder.

"No," Methos groaned, and opened his eyes, looking at Duncan with limp resignation. "If you want to take my head, go on. I can't move."

"I don't think I could stand another Quickening like that so soon," Duncan said, only half joking.

Methos closed his eyes again. "What I've done you can't forgive," he said. "And even if you could, you won't."

Duncan fell to a kneeling position over Methos. "Try me," he whispered, meaning it.

Methos kept his eyes closed. "Do you remember the Dark Quickening," he said. "A part of you enjoyed that, didn't it? Part of you liked trying to rape that woman, killing Sean Burns, trying to run me over, even trying to kill me, right?"

Duncan nodded, forgetting Methos couldn't see him.

"What if it was like that for me?" Methos went on. "Not a Dark Quickening, just a dark existence for the first few hundred years of my life? When the only love I'd ever known was among a band of murderers?" Methos opened his eyes then, and tried to raise himself onto one elbow, with partial success. "It wasn't a bloody civilized universe, Mac. It was kill or be killed. I just happened to be good at killing." He paused, lifting a leg to curl it underneath him as he slowly sat up, now at eye level with Duncan. "Sure I liked it. Eventually. Do something long enough, and you'll like it. I'm sure you know the feeling."

Duncan was silent for a moment. At last he said, very quietly, "I can understand that. But your little scene next to the Explorer made me think you were still proud of it, that you wanted to go back to it."

Methos sighed. "That was the first time in a thousand years I've lost my head, figuratively, Mac. I wanted to drive you away. I didn't want you to come after me, and get killed for your trouble."

"Then why did you let clues slip later as to where you were?" Duncan asked.

"By then, what could I do? I hadn't driven you away, and I couldn't kill Kronos and Silas by myself. I could only hope you wouldn't take my head too."

Duncan laid a hand on Methos' shoulder, dangerously close to the white expanse of his throat. "Consider it safe. From me, at least."

Methos let his head fall forward in relief, resting it on Duncan's arm. "Glad to hear that."

"Come on then," Duncan said. "We should get out of here. Hope no one saw all that lightning."

"We need to do something with that virus," Methos said, and stood up shakily.

"Is there a way to destroy it?" Duncan asked.

"Yes," Methos answered, and led the way to the laboratory.

****

The destruction of the virus took a few moments, but was accomplished without too much hassle and Duncan and Methos made their way out of the submarine base.

They were moving shakily, but still standing, weary beyond belief, not falling asleep on their feet only because a bed would be so much softer.

"Is there a hotel or something around here?" Duncan asked.

"Lights, that way," Methos said. "Maybe a motel or something, I don't care, I've slept everywhere." A few moments of silence passed as they stumbled toward the lights, and Methos added, "Including a collapsible raft in the middle of the ocean, sharks circling me with hunger in their eyes. Including a bed made of nothing but gold. That was a bad night's rest. Also a dirty tunnel several feet underground, dust falling out of the roof and settling over me like a blanket. And more than a few graves."

Duncan turned toward Methos, a light of humor in his eyes, and said, grinning, "Blah, blah, blah, blah."

They both laughed.

"So we're not through," Methos said, and it wasn't a question.

"No," Duncan answered.

****

The lights did indeed prove to have a hotel among them, a single unreserved room left for that night. Duncan snatched the key away from Methos' outstretched fingers, and led the way to the elevator and down the hall to the door.

"I'll take the floor," Methos volunteered, and promptly collapsed, quite conveniently, on the bed.

"Right, sure you will," Duncan said, and lay down beside him, too tired to even consider what would happen in the morning.

****

Duncan's dreams were filled with a familiar face and voice in an unfamiliar time. Kronos' memories, playing out again at night, he knew.

Methos, a young boy, crawling out of the desert sand, Kronos standing over him, eyes waiting. Methos, the feel of his lips over Kronos', slender hands gripping his buttocks. Methos, grown now, face painted, standing beside his horse.

Methos, kissing Silas as Caspian looked on. Methos, that look of intense concentration on his face, lost in pleasure.

Duncan woke up, discovering that his hands were resting over Methos' torso, their bodies entangled together. Methos sighed softly, and snuggled closer to Duncan, murmuring something in an ancient tongue.

They were lying on top of the blankets and it was cold in the room. For a moment, Duncan was tempted to wake Methos up so they could get underneath the covers, but just a moment more with Methos' arms around him -- Duncan sighed.

Methos stirred, and opened his eyes.

"Duncan?" he asked, and something flashed in the depths of his eyes. Methos pressed against him, hard, and through the barrier of their clothes Duncan could feel an insistent erection, twin to his own.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned, hardly knowing what he was saying. "Methos, please, oh god, don't...not like..."

And then Duncan lost the battle, leaned in, kissing Methos and suddenly it was so good, so right, so there, as Methos' tongue played casually over the roof of Duncan's mouth like it belonged there....

"Duncan," Methos chided. "Gods, well, we are a sparkplug tonight, aren't we? Coming from a kiss, it's been ages since anyone's done that on me."

Methos pulled away, just a bit, and inserted his hand into Duncan's jeans, the button popping under the strain.

"And still hard," Methos added, fondling Duncan's erection with a skill that made Duncan sure Methos had been a royal whore sometime in his long life. "But you are a young thing, aren't you?"

Methos kissed Duncan again, and Duncan rolled them over so he was on top, Methos' hand still down Duncan's pants.

Duncan broke the kiss almost savagely. "What do you think you're doing?" he said, not from anger, but pure curiousity.

"Oh, nothing, nothing at all," Methos said, pulling MacLeod's jeans off and throwing them to the floor. "Don't mind me, here."

A few more frantic moments of kissing changed to a struggle to get Methos' clothes off, to get their skin together. Duncan did not say a word when the offending cloth had been removed, just pulled Methos on top of him like it was his right.

Methos folded his arms on top of Duncan's chest, looking for all the world completely unhurried, in spite of the heavy erection nudging Duncan's insistently.

"I've rather wanted this for some time, you know," he said.

"So have I," Duncan answered.

"But what do you want, Highlander?" Methos continued. "You can't deny there's been a spark between us since we first met. From before I first saw you, I knew I would either love you or kill you." Methos moved slowly up to almost touch Duncan's lips with his own. "I can't kill you, so God help me, I must love you."

"I --" Duncan opened his mouth, and promptly drowned in Methos' kiss.

This kiss was different from the ones they had shared before. Methos was kissing him like he might once have kissed Alexa -- strange the thought did not light any spark of jealousy -- gentle, tender, slow, and unbearably, achingly sweet. Their bodies slid together effortlessly, and tiny sparks flew from their fingers when they touched. Methos combed a hand through Duncan's hair, twining the loosened curls around his fingers. When the kiss finally broke, Duncan knew that he must be staring up at Methos with stars in his eyes.

"I was going to tell you that I love you too," he whispered. "Why else do you think I came after you, even after we'd both made it plain that *we* wouldn't work?"

"I was hoping you'd say that," Methos answered, and there wasn't a shadow of mockery in his tone.

And after that, the slow rock and slid into orgasm was something lovely, far more than just two Immortals working off Quickening energy.

When it was over, they simply lay together for a while, not speaking, letting the last of their pleasure disperse into their bodies, whole, sane, and together.

"Where do we go from here?" Duncan asked the question softly.

Methos looked up into Duncan's eyes. "Home, I suppose," he said.


End file.
